


Problem In Hand

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: During Canon, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-02
Updated: 2007-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 11:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8710423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Sam's PoV of the events of my fic "Subconscious".





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Title: Problem In Hand

Author: Jinni (jinni.tth@gmail.com)

Rated: NC17

Disclaimer: All things SPN belong to Eric Kripke, et al.

Warnings: Wincest

Notes: Thanks to for the beta and the unknowing help of naming this ficlet.

Notes2: Well, so very many people asked to know what Sam was thinking during [Subconscious](http://community.livejournal.com/sn_slash/696764.html) so here it is.

Summary: Sam PoV of the events of “Subconscious”.

Wordcount: 4030

 

 

~*~*~

 

His sleep was disturbed just as pleasure rolled through him in waves. Sam woke, a strangled cry lodging in his throat before it could meet air and become sound. Even delirious with pleasure he knew that he needed to be quiet as he clawed his way out of sleep, dick throbbing between his legs. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, realizing in a split second what it was that had woken him from his dream. A _very good_ dream if the come spotting the front of his boxers was any indication, the feeling of post-orgasmic lethargy working its way through his muscles.

 

Dean had made a noise. Sounded like pain. It had been enough to wake him up, tear him from the clutches of - 

 

… _sin_ …

 

Sam took a deep breath, attempting to regain control of his higher faculties even as he listened for any sign that Dean was in danger. All he heard was his brother’s ragged breathing. 

 

Still –

 

“Dean? What’s wrong?” he asked, inflecting as much _sleep_ into his tone as possible. Like he’d been woken suddenly and not because his cock was going off like a firecracker. Having Dean know he’d just had had a wet dream wasn’t high on his list of things he _ever_ wanted to have to deal with. 

 

Especially when the subject of said dream had been someone that looked very much like his brother, he told himself as he waited for Dean to answer. Those were thoughts he didn’t want to deal with right now. _Couldn’t_ deal with because fuck if he knew how to handle how he felt about Dean. This hadn’t been a problem until he left Stanford. Somewhere along the line he’d gotten seriously fucked up in the head; that much was for sure.

 

And still Dean wasn’t answering. 

 

Sam knew that Dean was awake, could hear the jagged, irregular breathing coming from the other bed. 

 

“Are you okay?” he asked into the darkness, more forcefully, demanding an answer. He’d climb out of bed in a heartbeat to go to Dean’s side, embarrassment or not, if Dean needed him to. But he wasn’t about to volunteer if Dean was just having a hard time sleeping or something.

 

Finally, “Yeah. Must’ve had a nightmare or something.”

 

Sam felt a little guilty. Nightmares were his thing, not Dean’s. He was the one that was supposed to have to deal with the kind of twisted shit that made you wake up, heart pounding. And yet he’d been over here dreaming about doing unspeakable things with… 

 

And there his brain shut down, refusing to let him go any further into dissecting the dream he’d been having. The feel of warm flesh under his hands, a hardness that he’d touched and wanted to taste. He wasn’t going to think about who his partner had been because that was just _wrong_. Wrong on levels that he didn’t think he could handle. Not right now, half sleep.

 

“’Kay, night,” he mumbled, face turned half into his pillow, body relaxing now that he knew Dean was okay. No problem here, time to go back to sleep. If only he dared getting up to change his boxers because – yeah – uncomfortable.

 

“Night,” Dean echoed. Sam heard cloth rustle, saw Dean’s shadow on the bed move as he stripped off his t-shirt. Probably had sweat on it. Must’ve been one hell of a bad dream.

 

Poor Dean.

 

~*~*~

 

_Sam looked down the length of his brother’s body, watching every movement that he made. Every single expression. Every flick of his tongue over his lips. Sam was eating it up. He ran a hand along Dean’s thigh, feeling muscles bunch under his touch, leg flexing, toes pointing. Eager hips bucked upwards and Sam chuckled. He was so hard he could have knocked down a fucking tree with his dick. Wanted so badly to let Dean touch him._

_But there was something he wanted more. Something he always wanted more._

_He enjoyed putting his hands on Dean, told himself that it was because he’d spent so much time having to hide this, to not touch too long or lingeringly._

_Sam moved his other hand to Dean’s cock, wrapping his fingers around the rock hard shaft. He squeezed lightly. Just enough pressure to make his presence known, not enough to provide any sort of relief._

_“Fuck, Sam. Don’t be a tease,” Dean said, teeth clenched, eyes wide and glittering._

_This was too good to rush, to end before it began. Sam tightened his fingers, and Dean’s head snapped back into the pillows, moaning._

_Sam worked Dean with his fingers in gentle strokes mixed with harder, firmer grips. Up and down, slip-sliding along the smooth skin, feeling the pulse of blood within it, the large vein that ran down its length. He shifted, his own cock begging for attention._

_With a shift of his hips, Sam had maneuvered so that he could comfortably palm his dick while he stroked at Dean’s. He shut his eyes, letting the sound of Dean’s hoarse whimpers and cries tell him when he was getting his brother too close, when he needed to back off if he didn’t want this to end._

_Hips thrusting up, Dean’s back arched, and Sam knew he’d gone too far. He felt Dean’s cock spasm in his hand, come spewing from the tip in thick bursts. With hard, quick snaps of his wrist, Sam tried to catch up, to get there with him._

_Wait._

_What was that?_

 

~*~*~

 

Sam’s eyes snapped open, tension making his muscles taut. In the next bed over Dean was shifting, breathing hard. Sam frowned. 

 

Fuck. Two nights in a row he’d not only dreamed of doing those things to his goddamned brother, but also two nights in a row Dean was awake when he should be asleep.

 

Sort of made Sam worry that Dean might overhear something. 

 

Sam licked his lips, dragging the heel of his palm over his cock, wishing that he could bring himself to release right now. Couldn’t do that with Dean awake, though.

 

“Dean?” he asked.

 

“Another nightmare,” Dean sighed.

 

Sam forced himself to laugh. “Dude, seriously – that’s my gig.” And, fuck, did he _sound_ as horny to Dean as he did to himself? He hoped not. He forced himself to laugh again, hoped that the frustration and tension didn’t bleed through to his tone this time when he spoke, “Now stop waking me up. I was having the best dream.”

 

Not a lie – no matter how much he wished it was. He didn’t _want_ to feel this way about Dean. Didn’t want to have to resist the urge to let his eyes linger where eyes had no business lingering.

 

Dean was quiet, but Sam knew better than to think that he had gone back to sleep.

 

He wondered if Dean could tell the same thing about him, hours later when he was still hard with need, lying awake staring at the ceiling.

 

~*~*~

 

_Sam dragged a lube-slicked finger between the crease of Dean’s ass, tracing around the tight pucker of muscle that he found there. Automatically, instinctually, Dean spread his legs. It was a welcome, an invitation._

_One that Sam wasn’t about to turn down._

_He wrapped his free hand around Dean’s cock, slowly tugging it as he continued to tease Dean with his finger. Not entering, not yet._

_“SAM!”_

_Sam’s eyes went to Dean’s face, the yell completely out of place. The slick slide of his hand over Dean’s cock faltered, stuttered._

_“SAMMY!”_

__

~*~*~

 

“What?” Sam was awake in an instant, Dean’s frantic cry piercing his dream like nothing else in this world. He sat up, willing his cock to go down even as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and crossed to Dean’s side. It was too dark for him to see much more than his brother’s general outline, and Sam hoped that meant that Dean couldn’t see the fact that he was so hard that he was practically poking out of his boxers. 

 

“What’s wrong, Dean?” Sam asked, worried now.

 

“Dude, I think something’s haunting me.”

 

~*~*~

 

Every time he thought about it, Sam wanted to laugh. It really was one of those things that just got funnier and funnier.

 

Except for that part of him that wanted to growl _no_ and _mine_ and get the fuck rid of this spirit that kept touching _his_ Dean.

 

Stupid thoughts. Dangerous thoughts. Lusting for your older brother’s hands – his cock? – that was not something that normal people did.

 

Then again, Sam had been forced to accept months ago that he was never, ever, going to be normal. Not by the definition he’d always used, anyway.

 

Still, that didn’t make _those thoughts_ okay. Not by a long shot.

 

He flicked off the light on the nightstand.

 

”Figures you’d get the frisky spirit,” he snorted, trying to hold back a laugh. He saw Dean’s arm move and got the feeling that Dean was giving him the finger. That just made Sam laugh more.

 

The plan was to stay awake and see if they could get a good look at whatever was doing this to Dean. Obviously it wasn’t something linked to a specific place, because Dean said it had been happening for the last few nights, and they’d been in a different motel each time. Sam had spent most of the day looking online for anything like this, coming up with a big fat zero for his efforts. 

 

So, this was their next option – a little recon.

 

It sort of figured that nothing happened that night.

 

~*~*~

 

The next night found him on the edge of Dean’s bed, rubbing his arm, trying to will away the hard-on that he was desperately trying to hide with one knee crooked up on the bed. “Again? Seriously – what the fuck?”

 

This was getting to be over the top. It was fucked up enough that he was having dirty-wrong-sick—twisted dreams about his brother every night. For Dean to be getting molested by some sicko spirit was just double the fucked up ‘ness. Sam wanted to wring the spirit’s ectoplasmic neck. 

 

_… dirty dreams… Dean getting molested…_

 

The facts tried to connect themselves in Sam’s head, but they slipped and slid past one another, never quite attaching to make a logical reason for what was happening. He knew that the answer to it all was right there, hovering and waiting to be figured out, but he couldn’t quite get it to _work_.

 

“Don’t know,” Dean muttered. Then he sucked in a breath.

 

“What?” Sam asked.

 

“Nothing,” Dean told him. “Just tired.” Sam knew he was lying. Calling him on it could only be awkward, though. This wasn’t exactly a normal run-of-the-mill curse after all. Not when it had to do with a spirit jacking Dean off at night. And Sam was _not_ going to feel jealous that this spirit got to do something that Sam could only dream of. Got to touch Dean, feel his brother tense and tighten with pleasure. 

 

Sam wasn’t going to think about those things. It couldn’t lead anywhere good.

 

“We’ll figure this out, man,” he said finally, giving Dean’s arm another pat.

 

Hopefully before Sam lost his fucking mind.

 

~*~*~

 

Dean was being weird today. From the time they’d gotten out of bed and Dean had decided to be playful, splashing water at him from out of nowhere, to right now, when his brother was engaging in the weirdest fucking conversation _ever_.

 

When Dean started saying _Christo_ to the tune of “Old MacDonald”, Sam knew that possession wasn’t the cause of Dean’s current state of mind.

 

Which really only left some sort of psychosis.

 

Funny, that didn’t make him feel any better.

 

This must be taking a worse toll on Dean than he thought.

 

~*~*~

 

Sam woke early the next morning, slipping out of bed with only a quick glance at his brother. He stumbled over his t-shirt on the way, dimly remembering using it to clean himself off during the night, when he’d once again had the twisted pleasure of another wet dream featuring Dean. Hands, lips, mouths. It had been one of the hottest dreams yet.

 

And Dean hadn’t woken him up from it, which was a nice change from their routine as of late. 

 

Sam stretched and stumbled off into the bathroom. Might as well get a shower since he was already up.

 

Standing under the spray, his thoughts continued to drift to the problem of Dean’s horny nocturnal visitor. Something was nagging at the back of his mind. For one thing – why hadn’t this happened while he was awake? Why did whatever this thing was always rush off the second he woke up – or at least that’s the way it seemed from what Dean had said.

 

It just didn’t make any sense. 

 

If the spirit was brazen enough to make contact like _this_ , then he doubted that it cared if it had a fucking audience.

 

Yet, there it was. It didn’t want to play when Sam was conscious. 

 

Maybe…

 

Nah. There was no way this had anything to do with _him_.

 

~*~*~

 

He woke that night to the sound of his brother coming. Loud, sharp gasps of breath, broken off like Dean was trying to mask what was happening. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but for the fact that once again he’d woken Sam up. 

 

And Sam was already fucking hard as hell from the dream he’d been having. A dream where Dean had been making noises sort of like that.

 

“God, Dean,” he choked out, voice tight with desire and longing and things that Dean definitely didn’t need to be hearing. 

 

He stumbled to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. His dick was out and in his hand before it had clicked into place, and he was leaning against the cool wood, jacking off hard and firm. Not caring if Dean heard him or guessed what he was doing because Dean had just been _getting fucked by a ghost_ one bed over, and, damnit, Sam could only hold it together for so long. It was either this or go out there and jump his brother.

 

Somehow Sam doubted that Dean would appreciate that.

 

He came hard, bucking into his hand, biting the inside of his cheek, a whispered _Dean_ the only sound that made it free.

 

Dean was asleep by the time he came out and fell back into bed.

 

~*~*~

 

The next morning was one of the most awkward that they’d ever had, and that was saying a lot considering how awkward it had been when he, at age fifteen, had stumbled in on Dean getting a blow job by their - _married_ \- next door neighbor.

 

Yeah – if that had been awkward, this was awkward squared.

 

He could see the effect of everything in Dean’s eyes, too. The way that his brother could barely look him in the eye without his cheeks getting pink. Oh, Dean was trying to play it off with little smirks, but Sam saw right through it. Dean was uncomfortable with what was going on.

 

If only Sam could figure out what the _hell_ was going on. God, at this point he was almost willing to chalk it up to being _his_ fault, somehow, even if he was damn sure that wasn’t possible. Even a bad reason would be better than no reason at all. Right? No. Wrong. 

 

God, he couldn’t even _think_ straight anymore.

 

”This is getting out of hand,” Sam sighed.

 

“You don’t say.” Dean snapped.

 

It was easy to ignore Dean’s irritation in light of, well, _everything_. He sat back, lunch forgotten for the moment. “Is there anything else you can tell me about it?”

 

Dean blinked owlishly at him, lips pressing together in a tight line right before he sighed – loudly – and deadpanned, “Other than the fact that he has great technique?”

 

Wait. What?

 

“He?” Sam said, choking over the word.

 

Dean looked away.

 

“How do you know it’s a guy, Dean?” Sam asked slowly, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Dean _knew_ this thing was male and he wasn’t freaking out over it. Well, no more than Sam would have expected him to freak out over it, anyway.

 

“I just _know_ ,” Dean growled. He pushed away from the table, stalking around the room like an angry tiger. Prowling. Pacing. 

 

“You just _know_?” Sam echoed with a forced laugh. He didn’t want to think about how Dean would know something like that, or the way it made his cock swell and push against the front of his jeans. The idea of Dean with a _guy_? Fuck. He tried to laugh again, but it came out strained. “Been with a lot of guys, Dean?”

 

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but the way that Dean just _froze_ and _blushed_? Well, that Sam hadn’t been expecting _at all_. The answer was written all over Dean’s face and Sam didn’t think he could get any fucking harder. 

 

What kind of sick freak was he? Getting this worked up because Dean – his _brother_ \- apparently played for both sides, same as he did?

 

God. He was _so_ going to Hell. One way trip, damned for eternity. 

 

Even knowing that, Sam found it hard not to stare at his brother’s mouth. To wonder if he’d ever put those goddamned lips to use on some guy’s dick, like sometimes Sam dreamed about?

 

“You _have_ ,” he accused, voice a sigh that caught in his throat. He licked his lips and tried to just fucking keep breathing normally. Hard to do when his pulse was stammering out a rhythm that made his cock swell and throb. Dean was watching him, and he looked so _worried_ that Sam’s heart constricted for a second. There were a lot of things that Dean was good at, reading people wasn’t always one of them. Otherwise his brother wouldn’t be standing there like he expected Sam to be unaccepting of this little admission.

 

Sam smiled suddenly, brightly. “Didn’t think you were the type.”

 

”What type would that be, little brother?”

 

Laughing, Sam shrugged. “Same kind I am.”

 

Was that…?

 

No. No way in _hell_ Dean had given him _that_ kind of look.

 

Sam swallowed hard, turned away, and tried to focus on getting what was happening under control. Maybe Dean would run out to get them something to eat soon so that he could jack off in peace and quiet, this new piece of knowledge more than enough to set him off quick.

 

Fuck.

 

~*~*~

 

The next morning was a quiet affair. Dean had breakfast waiting for them by the time Sam cracked open his eyes. He stumbled through his morning routine, yawning as he showered off the sweat – and, again, come – from the night before. This was getting to be a habit. He wondered as he turned off the shower if Dean would notice if he started carrying a damp washcloth with him to bed at night. For that matter, would Dean notice if he just started sleeping naked so that he didn’t come all over a new pair of boxers every night?

 

He tugged on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, feeling much more human and awake when he finally set foot outside of the bathroom. Hair still damp, he ran a hand back through it and took the coffee that Dean had brought back for him with a ‘thanks’.

 

It wasn’t until he sat down on the edge of the bed, nursing his coffee like any good addict, that Sam realized that Dean hadn’t said a word to him.

 

No, Dean was just _staring_ at him. With a look that made Sam a little uncomfortable and a whole lot of turned on. It was the kind of look he’d seen his brother use on women all the fucking time.

 

And now it was directed his way, and Sam didn’t know how to handle it. 

 

“So – do you dream about me or just guys in general, Sammy?”

 

Sam was damned glad he wasn’t sipping his coffee. As it was, the air in his lungs solidified into a solid mass that had him choking just trying to _breathe_. Struggling for the words, trying to force his lips to open up and spill forth the lie that would make everything okay, was something that was proving to be, well, impossible.

 

“You’re the one doing it,” Dean said. Sam didn’t need him to elaborate on what the ‘it’ was, either, because his brain connected the dots almost immediately. “You and that damned telekinesis.”

 

Okay, so maybe he _wasn’t_ the culprit. Maybe he could still get out of this without their relationship getting any more fucked up than it already was. A quick white lie to smooth things back over, even though Dean didn’t look angry or upset with him.

 

In fact, he was still giving him _those_ looks. The speculative, appraising, heated, sultry, _sogoddamnedsensual_ looks.

 

Sam forced himself to look away, to shake his head. “I can’t control that.”

 

Dean made a disbelieving noise. “When you’re awake. See, I think you can do it just fine when you’re not thinking about it, when its just your subconscious mind in control –“

 

That was it. Dean was right, and Sam knew it, even as Dean finished what he was saying. It almost made sense that, while asleep and not _trying_ , he’d be able to use that power just fine. Even if it was in such a _dirtysick_ way. Heat and embarrassment crept over his cheeks. There was no way that he could keep acting like Dean was out of his mind when he knew damn well that Dean had hit the nail right on the head. 

 

Sam’s head dropped; chin practically on his chest. “I’m sorry. I’ve tried not to… tried not to feel that way...”

 

… _about you_. Tried not to feel that way _about you_ … 

 

“Yeah, me too.” Dean said.

 

Sam looked up sharply, eyes widening. Wait. Did he mean...?

 

”And I’m thinking that’s not working out so well for us,” Dean continued, his eyes wandering up and down Sam’s body in a clear eye-fuck if ever he’d seen one. Still, Dean’s meaning didn’t become crystal clear until he said, “Want to try something else?”

 

Sam managed to nod.

 

Barely.

 

~*~*~

 

_Teasing_ and _evil_ and _needtotouchplease_ all ran through Sam’s head as he pushed up into Dean’s hand, willing that strong grip to tug just a bit harder, faster, quicker. He felt like everything he’d wanted had been just offered up to him on a silver plate, and _damnthatfeltgood_.

 

He heard himself say Dean’s name, heard Dean’s chant of _Sam’s_ and _Sammy’s_ , and that just about broke him apart, especially when Dean said that he’d wanted this, wanted Sam.

 

Fuck. God. They were both oblivious idiots. And maybe this wasn’t right – in fact, Sam was sure that he needed to just go on and grab a couple tickets for hell - but it didn’t feel so _wrong_ either, with Dean caught up in it, too.

 

When he came, it felt like he was being ripped apart inside. Body flushed out in one long stream of pleasure that shot from his cock, white-hot and thick. Dean’s lips mashed into his, tongues warring, teeth click-clacking.

 

And then he was still, and Dean sat back, face flushed. Sam sucked in a breath, then another. Why did being around Dean always make it so hard for him just to _breathe_? 

 

He sort of liked that feeling. Out of control, reckless.

 

Dean laughed.

 

“What?” Sam asked, trying to work up the will power to care when his body felt this good, this sated.

 

“Was just wondering – you think if we do this every night your mind might let me get a little sleep?”

 

Sam laughed, blushed, then just laughed some more.

 

They really did get in the most _fucked up_ situations.

 

He gave Dean his most innocent look, already planning on ways to make sure that his body was too tired for his mind to even _try_ something like that tonight. “Well – we can always keep trying until we figure out something that works.”

 

END


End file.
